


Out Of The Past

by Siberianskys



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Case Fic, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Family Drama, Family Secrets, M/M, Off-screen Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-06
Updated: 2009-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siberianskys/pseuds/Siberianskys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn’t want to be wrong about this. I’m still not a hundred percent sure, but as sure as I can be without DNA,” Sam said, handing the envelope to Jensen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of The Past

Sam stood on the steps, hands plunged deeply into the pockets of his faded, holey, once indigo jeans. Staring at the scuffed toes of his work boots, he half expected to hear sirens coming up the street. This didn’t look like the sort of house that had occupants who were used to having a nearly middle-aged, prematurely gray, retired hunter standing on their doorstep at the crack of dawn. He was starting to rethink his whole plan when a guy who looked like the lead singer from one the bands in Dean’s tape collection answered the door.

“Yeah, something I can do for you?” he asked.

“I’m looking for Jensen Ackles,” Sam said, body tensing as the guy’s friendly expression was replaced by a you’re-gonna-get-an-ass-kicking glare.

“You that creepy-ass customer Jenny had at the diner last week?” the guy asked, leaning into Sam’s personal space, not showing any sign that he was intimidated by Sam being at least six inches taller and 30 pounds heavier.

“Damn it, Christian, who the fuck is at the door? If it’s somebody answering the ad tell ‘em we don’t rent to the functionally illiterate. Or did you forget to put the times of inquiry in again?”

Sam gaped. If he thought Jensen was Dean’s doppelganger in a sweater set, Poodle skirt and blonde wig, nothing had prepared him for this. He even looked like he’d robbed elements from Dean’s wardrobe; he stood barefoot on the wood floor in black jeans and a tight, black t-shirt. Jensen, at 19, was paler, more freckled, less scared than Dean had been, and then there was the soft brown hair, longer than his brother had ever allowed his to get, but still the similarities were uncanny even down to his bowed legs. If he’d had a sawed-off shotgun instead of a violin hanging from his right hand, it would be very hard for someone who didn’t know Dean so intimately to tell the difference. Swallowing hard, he took a step forward, trying to find the words. How do you tell a stranger that you think he’s your long, lost nephew especially when he’s staring at you like you should be in a straightjacket? “Look, I’m not some crazed stalker. Here take this,” Sam said, trying to pass the manila envelope past Christian. “I think it might help clear some of this up.”

“Dude, if you don’t get your ass off our porch--”

“It’s okay,” Jensen said, resting his hand on Christian’s shoulder.

“You sure?” Christian asked, wrapping his arm protectively around Jensen’s neck, fingers combing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” Jensen smiled tightly and nodded.

Mouth tight and eyes glued to Sam, he held open the door the rest of the way and allowed Sam to pass. “John, put on another pot of coffee,” he called as he closed and locked the door.

“Aren’t we rehearsing? We’ve only got three days,” the dark-haired, blue-eyed guy said.

“Not now,” Jensen said. “Please, just put on another pot.”

“Sure. I don’t know what I’m so worried about anyway. We’re going to bring down the house,” he said, smiling cockily at Sam over his shoulder as he went.

Sam’s eyes tracked John as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“I know. Hot, right?” Jensen whispered conspiratorially. “You should watch him play; good enough to eat.”

Christian reached up and smacked Jenny lightly on the back of the head.

“I’m married not dead,” Jensen said indignantly, rubbing the sore spot.

“You guys are married?” Sam asked.

“Problem with that?” Christian shot back.

“Of course not, I just didn’t find a marriage license in my research, that’s all,” Sam said.

“Research?” Christian asked suspiciously.

“I didn’t want to be wrong about this. I’m still not a hundred percent sure, but as sure as I can be without DNA,” Sam said, handing the envelope to Jensen.

“California still has its head up its ass, so we got married in Massachusetts last Spring Break,” Jensen said, opening the envelope and pouring the contents out on the dining room table.

Jensen leaned over, Christian pressed closely to his side, and picked-up one of the pictures--one of Sam’s favorites as it turned out. Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, shirt off, hands dangling between his denim-clad knees. Sam remembered taking the picture for his photography class’s final project. It had been worth half of his final grade. He’d been assigned to take an entire roll of film of one subject. He’d been terrified until he’d caught his teacher checking out Dean one afternoon when his brother picked him up after school.

“So,” Jensen said, startling him out of his reminiscing, “you think this is my dad?”

Sam nodded, staring into Jensen’s too familiar hazel eyes.

“You some kind of PI or something?” Christian asked.

“PI? No. Sorry,” Sam said, realizing that he’d never introduced nor completely explained himself for that matter. “I’m Sam Winchester and that was my brother Dean,” he said, tapping the photograph with his index finger.

“Was?” Jensen asked gently.

“Yeah, a long time ago now. You weren’t even born yet,” Sam said.

“Did he know?” Jensen asked. “Is that why he donated his sperm?”

“Your mother was artificially inseminated?” Sam asked.

“I thought you knew that,” Jensen said.

“I knew she raised you on her own and that your father’s name isn’t on the birth certificate, but I thought—uh—I thought she was another of Dean’s one night stands. At the end, I’m not sure how careful he was,” Sam said.

“Cancer?” Jensen asked.

“Nothing like that; he wasn’t sick,” Sam said. He couldn’t exactly tell a civilian the truth, but he wanted Jensen to know what kind of man his father had been. Pursing his lips, he really looked at his nephew for the first time. “He sacrificed himself so someone else could have a life,” Sam finally said, reaching across the table and squeezing Jensen’s hand.

“Would he have been okay with me? Okay with us?” Jensen asked, eyes shifting to gaze at his spouse.

“He’d have been more than okay,” Sam assured him. “Though he’d probably been happier if that was an electric guitar,” Sam said gesturing toward the violin resting on the table by Jensen’s hand.

“I didn’t mean--” Jensen said.

“I know what you meant,” Sam said. “Your dad may have had some trouble accepting it at first, but the most important thing in this world to him was family. If he were sure Christian loved you and you loved him and he was good to you then he’d have gotten used to the idea. He’d have just wanted you to be safe and happy."

“You think?” Jensen asked.

“I know so,” Sam said, smiling sadly at Dean’s son.

The End


End file.
